


Consciousness

by laireshi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love Confessions, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Unhappy Ending, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 07:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: It’s curious how Steve can put his hand on Tony’s chest right where the arc reactor used to be and Tony doesn’t even consider he should be afraid. He flinches during his medical check-ups, sometimes he freezes in the shower when his own fingers brush over the scar, but when it’s Steve? Tony trusts him completely, so fully it doesn’t really register.





	Consciousness

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the beta and the idea to Comicsohwhyohwhy!
> 
> This is a part of the Cap-IM celebration of MCU's tenth anniversary, a tribute fic for CACW. Also a fill for my stony bingo card, "abandonment issues".

It’s curious how Steve can put his hand on Tony’s chest right where the arc reactor used to be and Tony doesn’t even consider he should be afraid. He flinches during his medical check-ups, sometimes he freezes in the shower when his own fingers brush over the scar, but when it’s Steve? Tony trusts him completely, so fully it doesn’t really register. 

It’s only when Steve moves his hand away, a worried expression on his face and asks, “Sorry, I—you don’t mind?”, that Tony realises the issue, or actually the lack thereof. 

He takes Steve’s hand and puts it back on his chest. “I don’t have the reactor anymore,” he says, and then he adds, because it’s important and he wants Steve to know, “and anyway, I trust you.”

Steve’s smile is almost blinding.

“I love you, Tony,” he says. 

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it always makes a shiver go through Tony. It feels too good to be true, but Steve doesn’t lie, and Tony just told him he trusted him. He’s going to trust him here, too. 

“I love you too,” Tony says. 

Steve kisses him. It’s soft and slow and sensual and it takes Tony’s breath away.

There’s something, he thinks—something they should talk about. He can’t focus, he doesn’t _want_ to focus, he wants to stay here with Steve. 

The Sokovia Accords, that’s it, they should work on the Accords, beat them into something more acceptable now that the PR fire has been put out. 

“Stop thinking,” Steve tells him. “You’ve been working all day, all week, you deserve a bit of rest.”

“As if you’re any better,” Tony replies. 

“I left my work outside of our bedroom,” Steve tells him.

“Did you?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “So you’re not hoping for a _workout_ now?” 

Steve chuckles. “My own work, then.”

Tony jabs him playfully in the chest. “See, Steve, words are important, you can’t just—” He cuts himself off because Steve shivers. “Are you cold?”

“No, I—”

But Tony knows Steve still remembers the ice, sometimes, at the most random times, and he doesn’t mind knocking up the climate controls. It’s already December, anyway, so the inside of the Tower feels somehow colder than it does in July even if the temperature is ostensibly the same.

“Friday, make it warmer in here,” Tony calls out, but it doesn’t distract him from what he was thinking about.

_December_. 

It’s okay, Tony tells himself. Steve already promised to go to the cemetery with him. He may have known a very different Howard than Tony did, but he understands Tony. That’s what counts. 

“Thank you,” Steve says. 

“No problem,” Tony says. “And hey, if I get hot, I’ll just lose my clothes faster. Win-win scenario.”

“For me,” Steve agrees. “And you’re always hot.”

“Wow, Cap, if the press could hear you.”

Steve gives him an unimpressed look. 

Tony opens the first button of his own shirt and Steve’s expression changes _considerably_. By the time Tony’s opening his third button, Steve’s eyes are wide and dark, and then Tony doesn’t get the chance to get to the next one. Steve’s hands are on him, quick, impatient, opening Tony’s shirt and then touching him all over, his sides, his stomach, his chest, butterfly-light touches that Tony leans into and can’t get enough of. Steve runs his hand over Tony’s nipples, lightning fast, without enough pressure, and Tony still gasps.

Steve’s look turns to self-satisfied. 

Tony doesn’t like it _at all_. “Do not tease me, Rogers, come on.”

Steve pouts. “But only because you asked so nicely,” he says, moving down and settling between Tony’s legs. He opens Tony’s belt and slides it out of his belt loops. 

“What part of _no teasing—_ ”

“I did leave your tie on, didn’t I?” Steve asks. “I had plans for playing with that, too.”

Tony thinks of the dark red tie that is indeed still around his neck. _Plans_. Tony might like those plans, but for now he just wants—

He moans as Steve mouths at him, still through his underwear, all awkward angle; he’s opened Tony’s fly when Tony was distracted, but he couldn’t do more without Tony’s cooperation. Tony raises his hips now, and Steve grins as he pulls down his trousers and underpants at once. 

Steve doesn’t waste time after that. He licks over Tony, and Tony digs his fingers into the mattress. He keeps his eyes open, because he loves watching Steve, seeing him focus _just on Tony_ , and okay, he’s still clothed now, but his t-shirt looks two sizes too small, and then he takes Tony in and it’s _the hottest thing_ Tony’s ever seen, and also felt, Steve’s mouth feels _amazing_ , and he’s running his tongue over Tony in just the right way.

“Steve,” Tony moans out. He throws his head back. 

It’s like someone dumps a cold water bucket on him.

It’s like someone shatters his ribs with a vibranium shield. 

Tony’s in his lab, alone—of course he’s alone, when has he ever _not_ been alone—one hand still in his pants, and he pulls it out and wipes it over his trousers, disgusted with himself. 

The BARF glasses are on the floor. They didn’t crack, falling from Tony’s head, and for a moment, he’s tempted to step on them. He’d just make another pair, though. He knows he would. And maybe having this one intact will remind him _not_ to do _this_ any time in the future, or ever again, _shit_. The tech was supposed to _help_ , not . . .

He’s shaking, and he knows the exact temperature of his lab but he’s feeling icy cold, and his heart is beating rapidly behind his new arc reactor, the one that turned out to be necessary after Siberia. 

Steve’s not here because he’s in Wakanda; Steve’s in Wakanda because all his kisses and all his _I love yous_ were nothing but a lie; Steve kept lying because he never cared for Tony.

Tony only has to reach to the nearest table to find a bottle of vodka, and he drinks straight from it. The bitter taste burns down his throat, and he can pretend that’s why there are tears in his eyes; no other reason at all.


End file.
